


The Sign

by cantor



Series: The Daughter of the Sun [2]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19179640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantor/pseuds/cantor
Summary: She waits for a sign, a word from the Scattered God, anything to indicate that he still lives. And she receives it.





	The Sign

They never light the candles in the chapel of Caed Nua.

It has nothing to do with the keep’s coffers, which are far from empty. It’s just that the hold is Eothasian, the last bastion of faith in the Dyrwood in the very heart of its lands and with a mysterious mistress from the White that Wends atop its enchanted throne. She waits for a sign, a word from the Scattered God, anything to indicate that he still lives. Some say she is simply mad, while others flock to her banner for protection and fruitful soil to work on, and she is glad for both.

 

Inside, it smells of dry wax and incense. When Severin enters the chapel, alone, she bows deeply and respectfully into nothingness and hangs her scabbard on the wall. She won’t require an estoc for a prayer. Then, she kneels in front of the altar and clasps her hands together. The long sleeves of her garment flop silently, and the hard hat rests sternly on her head.

“Godly redeemer and bringer of light...” she begins confidently, out loud.

The candles flicker and flare up headily, like an answer to her words. Her mouth opens wide as she gasps in disbelief; her eyebrows arch violently like a back of a cat, but the candles burn still. The flames are immovable, they are the small pillars of light. She brushes close and puts her fingers over the flame – it is warm, white at the tip, and strangely, it does not hurt her. Suddenly, there is an odd, disturbing feeling in her soul; she can sense profound sadness but also manic determination and hope. It isn’t hers, it doesn’t belong to her, it’s someone else’s thoughts. Even with the watcher curse, she has never experienced anything like this.

“Is that you, Eothas?” she mutters, not expecting to hear an answer.

But the answer is yes. His confirmation rolls over her like a crashing wave. He responds carefully but confidently, his voice roiling in Severin’s head, the voice of a god, gentle but stern. He sounds guilty. Severin doesn’t understand. She wants to rejoice, to celebrate his return, to bask in his light. But there is something agonizing coming, and she doesn’t know what.

“I’m sorry,” he echoes in her mind, and then the link breaks abruptly.

The chapel collapses.

Amidst the rubble and the ruin, Severin can hear the screams. They reach her ears rapidly. Those are the screams of anguish and they are quickly extinguished into total silence. Blood drips from her mouth, it bubbles in the corners. She wears a downwards, lopsided smile. There is pain in every part of her body. A bone sticks out of her right leg.

Severin falls flat as she tries to stand. As she finally understands her attempts are hopeless, she reaches for her blade, buried deep in rubble. When it is unearthed, she uses it a crutch to lean on. The sky is weeping; she is in the heart of the storm. It is a bîaŵac. Her soul clings tightly to her body, it is unwilling to let go. She walks as if drunk, not knowing where to go. All around her are the lifeless husks of kith, frozen in agony like statues.

She falls on the ground one last time. There is no more strength, no more resilience.

Only pain.

Only darkness.


End file.
